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 | The Wheatley Manuscript |  |
26
Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me.
Vptake me noght in thy hastynesse,
If I haue lyued as the is lothe,
Vnkynde aȝeins thy kyndenesse.
For wanton worde and ydel othe
And many a werk of wyckednesse,
I drede thy dome aȝeins me goth
Bot grace go with rightfulnesse.
27
Quoniam sagitte tue infixe sunt michi, et confirmasti super me manum tuam.
Thow hast seet fast on me thin honde;
And, as man with-oute myght,
I wexe weyk as is the wonde.
Bot, Lord, meyntyn thow thi right,
Supporte thi man that may not stonde,
And comfort thow thi febil knyght
That fer is flemyd oute of thy lond.
28
Non est sanitas in carne mea, a facie ire tue; non est pax ossibus meis, a fa[cie peccatorum meorum].
In presence of thi w[re]th[l]i face,
To my bones is pees ne wele
For synnes that me thus deface.
Therfore, when deth schal with me dele,
I se no help, Lorde, bot thi grace;
My wyld[e] will, my wittes frele
Eencombre me when I trespace.
29
Quoniam iniquitates mee supergresse sunt caput meum, sicut onus [graue] grauate [sunt super me].
The werkes of my wykkednesse,
And vp-on me synnes be throwen
As birdeyn of grete heuynesse.
I may me no[whe]r now bestowen
To hyde me fro thy hastynesse;
Neuertheles ȝit, as we trowen,
Thi mercy passeth rightwisnesse.
30
Putruerunt & corrupte sunt cicatrices mee, a facie insipiencie mee.
Before the face of my foly,
And, sithen I [fir]st in synne sank,
Can I noght bot mercy cry.
Now, Crist þat reysed hym þat stank,
The brothir of Marthe and [of] Mary,
So bryng me fro this brery bank
To heuen blys aboue the sky.
31
Miser factus sum & curuatus sum usque in finem; tota die contristatus ingrediebar.
Croked and careful yede al day;
Myrth may noon come in my mynde
When I thenk on my longe way.
I wote wele I mote hennys wende,
Bot whedir and when I can not say;
Therfore my boxom bakke I bende
That Crist me kepe, for he best may.
32
Quoniam lumbi mei impleti sunt illusionibus, & non est sanitas in carne mea.
And in [my] flesch ther is noon helth;
Therfore of grace sende me greynes,
That I may fle all fleschly felth.
Let neuer the feende with [al] his traynes
Stert vpon me with his stelthe,
To sett on me his firy ch[e]ynes,
For weldyng of this worldes welthe.
33
Afflictus sum, & humiliatus nimis; rugiebam a gemitu cordis mei.
I rorid for waylyng of my hert;
Oure foorme fadres a [for]warde breke;
Therfore alle we be woo-bygert;
And I ther-to my synnes eke;
What wonder if my hert[e] smert?
Therfore thy mercy, Lord, I seke,
For I may noght thy hand astert.
34
Domine, ante te omne desiderium meum, & gemitus meus a te non [est] absconditus.
My sorow is noght fro the hydde;
For, if my soule schuld be forlorne,
What were I better than beest or brydde?
Therfore, Ihesu, of Iewis boorne,
God and man in erthe kydde,
Lat neuer that tresoure be to-toorne,
That thow were fore soo sore betydde.
35
Cor meum conturbatum est in me; dereliquit me uirtus mea; & lumen oculorum meorum, & ipsum [non est mecum].
My vertu hath forsaken me,
Myn eghen sight with me now nys,
My Saueour may I noght see;
I erre al day and do amys,
I stomble as thei that blynde be,
And synne ywys is cause of this;
Mercy, Ihesu, for thy pitee!
36
Amici mei & proximi mei aduersum me appropinquauerunt & steterunt.
Neyghden and a ȝeinst me stode;
In welth a man may wysdom lere,
Bot wele were hym that vnderstode.
[N]ow frendes flokken euery-where,
As fowlys doon aftir ther fode;
Bot, be a man dede and broght on bere,
Many be feynt and fewe be gode.
37
[Et qui iuxta me erant, de longe steterunt; et vim faciebant qui querebant animam meam.
Thei strenghed hem that my sowle sought,
The world was fals, the fend was slygh,
The flesch dide so that me forthought.
Therfor to Godde than y fleygh
With lowly herte, and him besought
To yeve confort fro hevene an heegh
Of werkis that i hadde myswrought.]
38
Et qui inquirebant mala michi, locuti sunt uanitates, & dolos tota die med[itabantur].
Spekyn wordes al in vayn,
And alle the day, bothe late and rathe,
Thei thoght on gyle and vpon trayn.
Bot when thei fede moght and mathe,
And breres growen aboue her brayn,
Thanne schal the sothe hym-self vnswathe,
How synne hath many a soule slayn.
39
Ego autem, tanquam surdus, non audiebam; & sicut mutus non aperiens os suum.
And, as doumbe that [no mouth vndoth],
So sp[a]ryd I, and speche sperde;
Bot whan I spake I seyde soth;
For [he] that Iewes so foule with ferde,
That wote how euery gyl[e] goth,
Ful sore wil smyte with his ȝerde,
Bot men [a]mende hem þat mys-doth.
40
Et factus sum sicut homo non audiens, & non habens in ore suo [redarguciones].
Ne hadde in mouth noon opynnyng;
I saugh the synful gladde of chere,
And went[e] forth ful sore syghyng.
Bot, Lord, þat boghtest man so dere,
Let hym no blys in balys bryng,
But sende hym myght to amende hym here,
And graunt hym grace of vprysyng.
41
Quoniam in te, Domine, speraui, tu exaudies me, Domine Deus meus.
My Lord, my God, thow schalt me here,
For reuerence of that Lady fre
That ȝaf the soke and hath no pere.
To that Lady betake I me,
That woneth aboue the clowdes clere;
For, while sche sitte[th] neghe th[i] see,
I hope to spede of my preyer.
42
Quia dixi: Nequando supergaud[e]ant michi inimici mei; et dum commouentur pedes [mei, super me magna locuti sunt].
Let noght [vp me] my foos be gladde!”
For, while I stere my feet vnstable,
Vpon me thei grete wordes made.
Bot Crist, that art so comfortable,
Make her floures falle and fade,
And the to plese make me able:
In synne wil I no more waade.
43
Quoniam ego in flagella paratus sum, & dolor meus in conspectu meo semper.
My sorow is euer in my sight,
To do [h]is wille wil I gode letyn,
Aȝeins my God wil I noght fight.
Now, Lord, ȝat woldest blode [out] sweten
For hem þat to deeth were dight,
So sende me grace for to gretyn
Water þat may my hert[e] light!
44
Quoniam iniquitatem meam annunciabo, & cogitabo pro peccato meo.
And for my synne thenk I schal
How it is perilous to be prow[t]e,
And lecherie may lesyn alle.
Enuye and wrath of hert[e] stoute
Shal stand a man in litel stalle,
When he is clothed in a clowte,
To wonne [with]-in a wormys walle.
45
Inimici autem mei uiuunt, & confirmati sunt super me; & multiplicati sunt qui [oderunt me inique].
And strenghed on me myghtily;
Thei be encresyd many folde
That haue me hatyd wrongfully;
But Goddys Lombe, þat Iudas solde
For thritty pens vnrightfully,
[I] will pray to be in his folde,
To do his byddyng boxomly.
46
Qui retribuunt mala pro bonis detrahebant michi, qui sequeba[r] bonitatem.
For I good folowed, bakbytid me;
Bot thei þat thus falsly bakbyten,
Ful dredeful may ther hertes be;
For God schal alle ther wordes writen,
And schewe, þat alle the world schal see,
How scharply he schal [al] them smyten,
That wolde noght that vice fle.
47
Ne derelinquas me, Domine Deus meus; ne discesseris a me.
Depart thow me neuer the fro,
Hold vp thi hous þat thow hast wroght,
Forsake noght, Lord, my soule so!
This is thi woorde, thow hast it boght;
Elynges it were if thow were goo;
Therfore, Ihesu, lett neuer thoght
Ne worde ne dede part vs a-two.
48
Intende in adiutorium meum, Domine, Deus salutis mee.
My Lord, my God, and al my helth!
Be neghe me, Lord, whan I haue nede,
And wysse me whan I am in welth.
With gostely food[e] thow me fede,
And kepe me from al flesshly felth,
And graunt me grace for some gode dede
To so the fruyt of goostly telth.
| The Wheatley Manuscript | |